


seaglass and promises

by itsmylifekay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:38:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: It’s like dealing with his sister all over again. Only this time, instead of plucking a little girl out of the water, he’s trying to put a full-grown merman back into it. 
Bucky's not sure how this became his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Shark related violence is involved
> 
> A very nice artist on tumblr drew something for this when I started it a year ago, if that's you please let me know so I can post it here and give you credit! Sorry it took me so long to finish

 

“Bucky, honey, are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yes, mom,” Bucky sighs. He leans against the counter and looks out the tiny window above the kitchen sink. The clouds are already picking up, scuttling across the sky like a giant grey wave before rolling into something bigger and darker looming just over the horizon. “I got bread, milk, and eggs at the store just like you said. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll call me in the morning,” she says, voice stern and laced with motherly concern. (Not that there needs to be, Bucky would’ve called anyway.)

He cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear, starts finishing up the last few dishes in the sink. “Yes, mama,” he promises. “Soon as I’m out of bed.”

She makes an amused sound at that. “Only my son would sleep through a tropical storm, probably snoring louder than the wind.”

“Hey now,” Bucky grins, scrubs a plate and sets it in the dish drainer. “This is your baby boy you’re insulting.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line, his mother going quiet as Bucky rinses the last plate and wipes his hands on a towel.

“You’re still my baby boy,” she finally says. “And I want you to be safe. So you stay down in the cellar and you call me when the sun’s out. And set an alarm-- we don’t need a repeat of last time.”

(Last time being when Bucky had slept like a rock through the night, and the morning, and into the afternoon. Far past the end of the storm, not waking up until it was nearly two and he had twenty missed calls and twice as many unread messages.)

He winces internally at the idea of his mom and sister being so worried about him and gets his phone out then and there to set an alarm. “Done,” he says.

“Good. I’ll talk to you in the morning then, sweetie. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, mama. You too.”

“Love you,” she says, waits for Bucky’s _‘Love you, too’_ before ending the call, the phone going silent and dark before Bucky shoves it into his back pocket.

The wind is rushing by the window now, rattling it in its pane and whistling in all the nooks and crannies of the house. The sky has darkened even more, colors warped and twisted by the clouds and the setting sun, hues of yellow and green glinting off of choppy waves, water crashing into the beach’s rocky outcrops in great foamy walls.

Bucky does his rounds of the small place, locks up all the windows and doors, pulls shutters closed and grabs his emergency bag, trudges his way down into the cellar and shuts the hatch behind him. There’s a hatch on the opposite side of the small room as well, one that leads outside the house-- he keeps that one bolted all the time, but he checks it again just to be sure. Then, all sealed and safe, he settles down for the night.

Outside the wind is raging, the waves crashing into rock and sand and water, curling in on themselves like an angry swarm, dark and dizzying and loud. But down below Bucky’s safe, wrapped in warm blankets and the recent memory of his mother’s voice, slipping off to sleep.

 

**\--Ten Years Earlier--**

“Becca get back here!” Their mother yells, trying to project over the sound of the waves as her daughter runs through the surf. In reality, the girl isn’t that far out, the water up to her chest and her head still bobbing safely above the water’s surface. So she just huffs and shakes her head, shoots her daughter a disapproving look before setting their things down in the sand. “I’m going to go get your sister,” she says, ruffling a hand through her son’s hair.

“I can do it,” Bucky offers.

His mother considers it for a moment then nods, “Alright, make sure you both come right back, and don’t go in past your stomach.”

Bucky nods dutifully and heads out into the water, wading through the shallow edge filled with broken shells and teasing waves before making it farther out where the bottom begins to smooth. “Becca,” he calls. “Becca, you wanna build a sandcastle?”

His litter sister turns to face him, dark hair tied up in a loose ponytail that’s gotten wet just at the tip, bright yellow swimsuit standing out starkly against the dark water. “No,” she pouts, shakes her head. “I wanna swim.”

“Fine, but you gotta come in closer.” He says, tries to reason with her. “It’s too deep out here, we can’t hardly even see the bottom. How’re we gonna find shells?”

She’s thoughtful for a moment and Bucky starts to turn, lead the way back towards shore, until her face brightens suddenly and she quips, “Like this!” before disappearing beneath the waves.

Bucky feels his heart jump in his chest.

She resurfaces a moment later, a little farther off, and Bucky scowls in her direction. “Becca, you know we’re not allowed to go under the water. Now c’mon, let’s go look for shells. We won’t get dessert from the picnic mom packed if we stay out here much longer.”

And that usually gets her- the threat of having cookies taken away. But this time it isn’t enough. She splashes her arms resolutely into the water and shouts, “No! I like it out here!” Then her little arms are paddling, feet kicking and body moving further out into the rolling waves.

“Becca!” Bucky shouts, then turns back to shore because he doesn’t know what to do about this situation. His mom’s already standing, taking off her cover up and wading out into the waves to stand and cup her hands around her mouth, “Becca!” she shouts. “Becca, come in with your brother right now!”

“But mom,” Becca whines back. “I want to _swim._ ”

She’s still paddling, probably not even aware of how far out she’s gotten because as Bucky swims to intercept her the bottom suddenly disappears from beneath his feet. And he’s never been afraid of the ocean, not before, but he’s seen enough movies to know the kinds of things that can happen, the kinds of things that lurk beneath the waves.

He squints his eyes shut tightly, shakes his head and mutters ‘get a grip, no sharks this time of day’ and he’s just about to resume paddling when he hears his mother shriek, head snapping to the side and then back out towards the ocean, towards the last place he saw Becca.

It’s all just unbroken, undulating blue.

He whips his head around, twisting this way and that in the water before letting out a shout of his own, “ _Becca?_ ”

“Bucky!” His mom shouts, “Bucky, get in here right now!” She’s running out into the waves now, but Bucky doesn’t swim towards her like she wants. He ducks under the water instead, tries to open his eyes and see past the burn of salt and grime. He’s so far out, deeper than he’s ever gone before, and his sister is nowhere to be seen. The waves are breaking stronger out where he is, the water moving strangely, and he turns to swim back in the other direction when a wave suddenly crashes over him, sends him spinning under and then spluttering back to the surface.

He coughs brokenly and his mother is farther away than he remembers, shouting both of their names. Then he realizes what’s happening, how he’s being swept out to sea. Panic and fear grip at him and he swims frantically to the side, away from the edges of the offending current that he’s nearly been sucked into. But _Becca…_ he ducks below the water again and tries to see if he can spot her, comes up blank again and again no matter how many times he goes under.

Finally, he just treads at the surface, feels tears mix with the salt water on his face as he lets out a last cry of “ _Becca?_ ” that goes unanswered. He floats there blankly for a few seconds before he feels something brush against his leg.

Something solid.

Something _big._

Bigger than the fish he’s seen swimming in the shallows, that’s for sure, and Bucky immediately yells and whips around, kicks out and wants to cry even harder because _no,_ a shark is not going to eat him, not today, not right now.

But it’s not a shark.

When he turns around and opens his eyes all he sees is his sister, floating on top of the swells with a dazed look on her face, staring at him with her dark hair plastered across her cheeks. He grabs her quickly, pulls her close and urges her to swim, to kick their way back to shore. But as he turns around one last time, throws a glance over his shoulder at the innocently twinkling waves, he swears he can see a boy staring back at him for a split second, gone again by the time he blinks and replaced by the flick of a tail above the surface of the water.

Their mother grabs them as soon as they’re in reach, still too deep for Bucky to touch the bottom but his mom can stand just fine, holds them both close and kisses the tops of their heads and sobs, drags them all back onto the beach and wraps them in towels and doesn’t let them go for the rest of the day. Frets over them for weeks. Won’t let them back in the ocean until they return the following summer.

And through all the confusion Bucky forgets about the boy he thinks he saw, brushes it off as adrenaline and a trick of the light in the waves. He moves on with his life, returns to the city and starts school again. His supplies are decorated with spaceships and shooting stars, each one chosen carefully as he remembers the sparkling night sky over the beach.

But his sister is still focused underneath the waves, wants books and movies and bedspreads covered in mermaids, fills coloring books and plasters the house with stickers of sparkly tails and seashells. And Bucky shakes his head, humors her, smiles ruefully as a starfish is stuck to his cheek.

She goes on about the mermaid in the water that saved her, too. How pretty his tail was and how they swam together beneath the waves back to Bucky. She talks about a lot of things though, about the monsters under her bed and the unicorns in the clouds and the fairies in the backyard. And Bucky listens to her stories, is amazed by the creativity and detail she puts into her imagining, but of course he doesn’t actually believe.

How could he?

It’s just child’s play and fanciful thoughts, a trick of the light in the waves.

 

**\--Present--**

“Alright,” Bucky hums, arms stretched above his head as he walks down towards the beach. “Let’s see what got washed up today.”

The sun is bright overhead, shrouded just slightly by a thin band of gossamer clouds that float innocently high up above, as if the sky hadn’t split opened and dropped darkness and inches of rain just hours before, hadn’t rattled the trees and worked up the waves with endless gusts of wind. The scraggly path that winds from the cottage to the beach is wet and slippery, gritty mud slipping between his toes as he makes his way down to where the sand is more solid and just beginning to dry. He’s already called his mother, assured her he’s made it safely through the storm, so there’s no worries on his mind as he takes a running leap into the sand, sinks to his ankles and leaves deep footprints where he lands.

There’s something in the air, something crisp and clean and new brought in by the storm, the afterglow of shadow making everything seem somehow brighter. He treads over the sand and feels it rough and damp beneath his feet. It’s a beautiful day and he breathes it in, fills his lungs with his arms spread wide, head tipped back towards the sky.

“Good morning!” he shouts out across the beach, lets the words rip from him and ring out into the silence of the rolling waves. He feels light as a feather as he reaches where the water kisses the shore and starts to walk along the edge of land and sea.

The usual tangles of seaweed are washed up onto the surf and he steps around them easily, plucks a piece of sea glass from one of the slimy masses and bounces it in his hand as he continues along. There’s not much else of note though, just a lot of pulverized shell pieces and a rotting twig here and there. It seems like his only find of the day is going to be the smooth, green glass in his palm.

He makes it down the beach and back again, to the rocky outcrop on the West side of the property where water pools and swirls in small, hidden alcoves. He plunks down in the sand beside the dark grey stone and buries his feet, pushes his toes as deep as he can and wiggles them to feel the cool grains slip against his skin. The sun is still shining down and the clouds have since cleared off, Bucky’s hair swept and ruffled by the wind as he stares out across the waves.

Closing his eyes, he lets himself drift. There’s no place he loves more than this small section of the sea and he drinks it in while he can, lets it sink into his very soul.

It’s maybe half an hour before he finally opens his eyes again, stares lazily out over the water and sweeps his eyes over the beach, from the furthest speck of sand he can see off in the distance to the corner where the rocks meet the waves. It’s exactly like he remembers, serene and picturesque, just him and the elements and--

“What is…” He cocks his head to the side, squints harder at the flash of color he sees down in the shallow water lapping against the rocks. He doesn’t remember seeing _that_ before. It could be nothing, just a jumping fish or a glint of sunlight, any number of things.

But before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s standing and wading out into the receding tide, water splashing at his calves. He pauses for just a moment to roll his jeans up to his knees then keeps pushing out farther, staying close to the shallows as he fumbles over rocks and sharp shells. In the back of his head he can practically hear his mother chastising him, yelling at him to get back to shore, but a larger part of him is drawing him onward, feet moving and eyes wide as he scales the last bit of rock and peers down into the sea.

“Holy mother of-” he starts, staring down at the banged up form washed up against the rocks. He turns and looks over his shoulder, debating whether he should run for help or try to get to the boy on his own. But out here help’s a long ways away, and the boy’s lower body is still in the water, his upper body splayed loosely over the rocks like he’s just been uncovered by the tide. Bucky feels something cold settle into his veins.

“Hey, can you hear me?” he calls, hoping by some miracle the boy’s still alive. No response comes, but he tries again, louder. “Hey! Can you hear me?”

The boy is still silent and unmoving, but Bucky’s not ready to give up, searches the weathered outcrop and his pockets for some way to get his attention. There’s nothing but the piece of sea glass he’d picked up earlier and he weighs it in his palm, holds it between two fingers before dropping it down to fall against the boy’s back. “C’mon _,_ ” Bucky whispers. “ _C’mon._ ”

Finally, _finally_ , the boy stirs.

“Hey!” Bucky shouts, “Hey, c’mon! Wake up!”

The boy lifts his head, turns, and coughs up a mouthful of salt water against the rocks, wet and painful sounding.

“That’s it,” Bucky urges, more under his breath than out loud. He’s about to re-center himself, getting ready to close the last few feet between them, when suddenly those thin arms are moving, getting beneath the boy’s chest before pushing him up. His back bends, arches, and even though everything is kind of blurry from the spray of the ocean and the adrenaline screaming through Bucky’s veins, he can tell this isn’t a boy at all. No, he’s most definitely a _man._

But no sooner does Bucky make this revelation than the man starts coughing again, water spilling up past his lips and forcing him to his elbows, forehead going down to meet the unforgiving rock.

“ _Shit,_ ” Bucky whispers. “Shit. No, you—” And then he’s scrambling, skinning his knees in his haste to slide the last foot down into the breaking waves.

The man pushes himself up again just as Bucky gets there, arms shaking as he coughs a few more times and spits another mouthful of salt water onto the rocks. The sun is still shining and the waves are still crashing, but Bucky feels like he’s entered another universe as he splashes clumsily to the man’s side and tries to put a hand on his shoulder, stopping short when he sees the fucking _spines_ extending from the center of the man’s back.

They’re the color of dry sand, occasionally painted with a swatch of darker brown, and they get progressively lighter in color until they melt into the pale skin of the man’s back, extending all the way from the top of his spine down to where his lower back disappears into the water. The ones up by his neck are fairly small, but towards the center of his spine they’re more pronounced, thin membrane stretched between flexible cartilage. And they’re all extended, spread wide and trembling as Bucky glances up to the man’s face to see him glaring back, eyes narrowed and lips pulled back in a grimace that reveals a set of teeth much sharper than Bucky’s ever seen.

“Alright,” Bucky says, mostly to himself as he holds up both hands in a placating gesture. On the inside he’s screaming, an unending loop of _fuckfuckfuck_ and _what the hell am I seeing right now?_ But on the outside he makes himself take a breath, keeps his voice steady as he says, “Alright, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Nobody’s hurting anybody.”

Because that’s what he’s supposed to do in these kinds of situations, right?

The man lets out a strange, grating kind of hiss that has Bucky blinking in surprise, nearly missing the way something glints and flashes beneath the waves before everything explodes in a splash of water, droplets spraying up into the air and sparkling in the sun. When everything settles again the man is looking at him with his chin lifted, a challenge in his eyes as he waits for Bucky’s response.

But Bucky’s too busy staring down at the tail that’s now resting close to his thigh, just rocking gently there in the shallow water that had moments ago been so violently disturbed. It’s the same sandy color as the man’s spines, with the same brown bands all along its length until it fans out at the end, flecked with darker pigmentation where it splits into the distinctive V of a forked caudal fin.

And Bucky’s not a marine biology major for nothing-- can’t help the way his eyes are drinking it all in, categorizing, wondering how the hell any of this is even _possible._

He’s jolted back to reality (if that’s truly what this is) by another round of horrible coughing, ending with the man bringing up more water with his elbows braced against the rock, entire upper body heaving until he finally takes in a shuddering breath, spits the last of the sea from his mouth and wipes his face against the back of his arm.

“That doesn’t sound too good,” Bucky mutters, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do. Call a doctor, a vet? The fucking FBI?

No, he knows enough not to call _anyone_ in. If he’s gone his entire life thinking mermaids weren’t real, he sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to let the cat of the bag for the rest of the world. He can only imagine how horribly that would go.

“I’m...fine…”

The gravelly voice nearly sends Bucky toppling backwards into the sea, saved only by a quick hand on his shirt that tugs him back to safety. The man is still watching him carefully, warily, but Bucky considers it a good sign that he was willing to spare Bucky a dip in the icy water.

“Thanks,” he breathes, watches as the hand retracts. His eyes dance over all the intricate webbing around the wrist and fingers, even going up the forearm. “For, uh, not letting me fall in…”

The man puts his hand back on the ground, rejoining the other in keeping his chest lifted. “Don’t mention it.”

“Right,” Bucky says, not sure what to do with himself now that he’s apparently sitting here having a conversation with a fucking _mermaid._ (Merman? Merperson?) Hell if he knows. But somehow, the most pressing thing his mind can come up with is-- “My sister is dying of jealousy right now and doesn’t know why.”

He gets a confused eyebrow lift and Bucky flushes slightly at his inability to control what comes out of his mouth, “My sister has a thing about--” he gestures to the man in front of him. “She would probably sell her soul if she could meet one of you.”

The man just blinks at him and Bucky realizes for the first time that his eyes are strangely filmy (a third eyelid, his mind supplies, probably still pulled shut from his time in the waves), and then he can’t stop himself from looking quickly up and down the man’s frame another time to see what else he might’ve missed. And there’s not much, not really, just the slits of his gills down beneath his rib cage and the scratches and bruises littering his skin.

The gills are...Bucky doesn’t quite know what to do with those. But he frowns at the last part, can easily latch onto the worry that overtakes him as he reaches out, puts a hand tentatively over a particularly large scrape on the man’s upper arm. It doesn’t look serious, but there’re a number of similar wounds all over his body, enough that Bucky starts to wonder if he hadn’t gotten caught in the storm the night before. He pictures the way the waves had been crashing against this very rock and tries to imagine what it would be like to be trapped in one of them as it broke against the unforgiving stone.

Then something hits him, brows furrowing as he puts together all the evidence he has at hand and-- “Are you stuck? Do you need help getting back in the water?”

And it’s like flipping a switch, the way the man’s relaxing spines suddenly stretch upwards again, fire in his eyes as he hauls himself up and starts to push himself back towards the water, stomach scraping over rock.

“Hey, c’mon,” Bucky says. “You’re gonna get hurt if you keep that up.” He doesn’t even flinch when the man glares at him, just balances himself firmly on the rock and grabs the man under the armpits.

It’s like dealing with his sister all over again. Only this time, instead of plucking a little girl out of the water, he’s trying to put a full-grown merman back into it.

(Both are frustratingly uncooperative.)

“C’mon, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says, trying to get a good grip on damp skin. Finally, he hauls the man up and has to turn his head to avoid being sprayed in the face by the thrashing of that powerful tail.

A few steps and he’s trying to keep his balance in the water, wading out until he’s knee deep before lowering the man down into the waves. He steps back when he’s done and gives his most disarming smile. “There,” he says. “Told you I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“I could’ve done it myself,” is the response he gets, spines half covered in water but no less erect.

And Bucky can recognize defensiveness when he sees it, lets out a sigh and backs up a step so he can plunk down on dry land with his feet stretched out into the water. “Yeah, but it would’ve taken awhile and it would’ve hurt scraping yourself across the rock like that. My way was easier.”

There’s a beat of silence that stretches thin between them, neither of them backing down as the tide pushes against the man’s thin body, makes him rock gently in the water as it laps against his skin. Then, finally, he lets out a sigh and looks Bucky square in the eye. “You gonna tell anybody?”

Bucky starts, a little disoriented at the abrupt shift in conversation. “I-- No?” he says, not even having to think about the answer. “Not like anyone’d believe me anyway. My mom would think I’d given myself sunstroke or something, make me move back to the city.”

The man watches him silently for a moment before pushing himself closer with a splash of his tail, holding out a hand that Bucky stands up to take, moving back out into the shallow water that’s somehow become their halfway point.

“You swear?”

“I swear,” Bucky says. “Not gonna tell a soul.”

Their hands part and the man slips back into deeper water, head still bobbing above the surface but the rest of his body obscured by the waves. Their eyes stay locked together for another minute or two, not saying a word as the sun climbs higher into the sky. But what’s Bucky supposed to say? What’s he supposed to _do_? It’s like someone’s pulled the fabric of reality right out from beneath his feet.

Then, the man turns away, swims further out and doesn’t look back as the waves start to crest above his head. Bucky follows him out until the water is up to his knees then stops, watches in fascination as silky blond hair disappears beneath the surface of the water and the flick of a tail takes its place, sending droplets up into the air before it too disappears beneath the waves.

Clouds come and go and waves crash into his shins, but Bucky doesn’t leave his spot until probably an hour later, eyes trained out over the rocking waves until his feet are numb and his head is aching from the strain of staring into the glaring water. He climbs back onto the rocks and stares for a moment at the unassuming grey surface, everything now seeming like something from a dream. But then he spots a bit of green, crouches down to see what it is and picks up a familiar piece of seaglass, bounces it in his palm before catching it again.

“Fucking _mermaids,_ ” he says, still in a daze as he makes his way back to the beach and the safety of the sand. “Becca would have a field day.”

 

~~~*~~~

It’s a week later when Bucky’s back out on the beach and kicking through the shallow water that he sees the man again. He nearly misses him at first, nearly misses the camouflaged tail that just barely breaches the surface of the water and blends in with the sand, but then some water flicks up into his face and he turns just in time to see the man’s head pop up above shimmering blue.

“Hey,” he says, surprise in his voice as he wipes droplets from his cheeks. “Is this the merpeople way of saying hello? Cause I don’t want to be culturally insensitive, but it’s a bit…” he trails off when he sees the smirk on the man’s face, lets out a laugh and kicks back a splash of his own. “You little shit.”

The man looks like he wants to laugh too, shoulders shaking slightly and lips curved up in a smile, but when he opens his mouth he just coughs water up into the crook of his elbow, keeps going until it sounds ragged and dry and Bucky’s up to his thighs in the ocean wondering how the hell a merman can drown in perfectly calm water. He gets a hand on the man’s back, starts rubbing over the smooth, damp skin and marvels at how it’s as cold as the ocean around them.

But the man just looks up at him and waves him off. “I’m fine,” he croaks, clearing his throat before trying again, “I’m fine.” He turns onto his back and with a single push of his tail moves closer to the shore, until he can get his hands into the soft, wet sand at the bottom and prop himself up.

Bucky follows him wordlessly, watches the way his gills open and close underwater, how his chest lifts shallowly in tandem. He’s got a swimsuit on today so he doesn’t hesitate to plop down in the water as well, settles his own hands down into the sand with a contented hum.

“So,” the man says about a minute later. He’s looking at Bucky from the corner of his eye as the waves lap against their chests. “You tell anyone?” His tail flicks beneath the water and the edge of it brushes against Buck’s calve.

“Swore I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” Bucky says, “I don’t break promises.”

The man considers him carefully then nods, looks back out over the waves. “Thank you, then. For that, and for getting me back in the water.” He pauses for a moment then adds, “Even though I could’ve done it myself.”

Bucky’s lips twitch up at that. “Yeah, well, my sister may kill me if she ever finds out, but I figure it’s not my secret to tell.”

They settle into a peaceful silence again, Bucky curling in on himself at one point to dunk his head beneath the waves. When he comes back up his hair is dripping and plastered to his face, fat droplets running down his cheeks as he scrubs at his eyes to spare himself the burn.

The man huffs at him like he’s done something particularly amusing and Bucky flicks some water at him in response, instantly regretting it when a veritable tidal wave swoops over his chest, the man’s tail going back to innocently resting in the sand once Bucky’s left spluttering in surprise.

“Alright,” he laughs. “Alright, alright, truce? Please?” He shakes his head and pushes sopping bangs up off his forehead. “Don’t know what I was thinking, starting a water war with Poseidon.”

“It’s just Steve, actually.”

The words have Bucky turning, eyebrows lifted as he looks at the twist of the m- _Steve’s_ lips and the unbroken blue of his eyes. “Steve?” he asks incredulously. “You’re a merman and your name is _Steve_?”

Bucky bits his lip at the kneejerk response, but Steve isn’t bothered, just shrugs and swipes his tail through the water, creating little waves and eddies that push at Bucky’s legs. “It’s my human name. I can’t say my other name above water, and you wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

“Your human name,” Bucky repeats. “Right. Because you have one of those.” He shakes his head in disbelief, honestly willing to believe just about anything at this point. (After all, it’s kind of hard to be skeptical when you’re sitting on your family beach next to a merman.) “Well mine’s Bucky, in case you were wondering.”

Steve smiles, stares up at the sky, and Bucky watches him for a moment before looking up at the clouds as well, enjoying the warmth of the sun across his skin and the spray of the ocean across his chest. Minutes pass and at one point Steve disappears under the water, swims in a slow circle just a few feet away before returning to his spot at Bucky’s side. His skin is newly damp and his hair is slicked back from his forehead and Bucky wants so badly to reach out and touch.

But he does have some self-restraint, so he keeps his hands to himself, settles for nudging Steve’s tail with his foot instead, just a playful touch that has Steve turning to face him with a grin on those coral pink lips.

He’s so completely out of his depth that it’s laughable, and a part of him is still halfway convinced that this is all just some kind of elaborate dream. But he goes with it. He smiles back as the water moves around them, as the tide drags against his legs and bumps skin and scales together, leaves Bucky breathless as he stares into brilliant, haunting blue.

 

~~~*~~~

“So how come I’ve never seen you before?” Bucky asks.

They’re out in the waves again and he’s just found out that Steve’s called this beach home nearly as long as he has. The idea is sort of blowing Bucky’s mind as he walks slowly through the water. Steve is swimming alongside him a few feet away, gliding easily just below the surface of the waves with his chest to the sky and his head turned in Bucky’s direction.

He doesn’t know quite how he feels about the idea of Steve having been here all along, hiding just out of sight for years while they both grew up on opposite sides of the shore.

Because it’s become routine now, how Bucky will get up in the morning and come down to the beach, wander around for a few minutes before Steve comes close to the shore to meet him. They talk, spend the day together and it’s _nice_. For the first time in years Bucky has someone to share his time with, someone to talk to and joke around with when the days get long and time seems to slow to a crawl.

It’s a little weird to think that he could’ve had that all along.

And don’t get him wrong, he loves the beach, he loves spending his summers out on the windswept sand and weathered rocks he’s known since he was just a kid. But he’s used to the city, used to living in a crowded apartment with his parents and sister and sometimes he can’t help but feel alone when he’s out here at what seems like the edge of the world.

“Because I didn’t want you to see me,” Steve says easily, bringing Bucky out of his thoughts. He flicks his tail in the water, does a lazy roll until he’s facing the same way again. “Humans aren’t supposed to know we exist.”

“And I’ve already seen you once so the rules just get shot to hell, huh?” Bucky grins. He might not’ve known Steve for long, but in the time they’ve spent together he’s learned pretty quick that Steve’s a handful. (And that following the rules is far from his area of expertise.)

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, something in his voice telling Bucky he’s just hit a nerve. “Sometimes the rules and the right thing don’t line up. And I’m not going to put the books above my conscious.”

Bucky just hums, lets Steve settle for a moment before he tries to steer the conversation back to where it started. “So you’ve really been here for years...and you’ve never done anything? Have you seen me before? Did you recognize me?”

And that’s a question Bucky’s not sure he even _wants_ answered. Because how weird would it be if Steve said yes, if he’d been watching from the waves this whole time and seen Bucky grow up without Bucky ever even knowing he was there. But it’s Steve, and Bucky understands why he had to hide, so he resolves that no matter what the answer is he’s not going to be weird about it.

It’s never even an issue though because Steve gets quiet and thoughtful, slips beneath the water for just a moment before surfacing again. “I never really came above water much before. There wasn’t a reason to. So no, I had no idea you were the one who lived here.”

The way Steve says it, something hollow ringing in the words, has Bucky pausing, sucking in a breath before putting on a crooked smile. “Well, I’m glad I’m reason enough for you to come close to shore.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, Steve looking up at him with an unreadable expression, but it ends soon enough with a flash of Steve’s tail, water spraying up across Bucky’s chest.

“Hey!” Bucky shouts. He tries to sound angry but fails, can’t help the smile that’s so obvious in his voice as the sound of Steve’s laughter reaches his ears. “I’ll get you for that!” He splashes back despite knowing it’s a futile battle, ends up drenched and mostly submerged with Steve hanging off his side.

“Give up?” Steve asks. One of his hands grabs at Bucky’s shoulder and his tail moves powerfully beneath the waves, nearly knocking Bucky off balance until Bucky flails spectacularly and says, “I give, I give.”

Steve releases him and Bucky’s still laughing breathlessly, pushing water off his face as he watches Steve swim smug circles around him. “Is that how the sirens do it, then? Just splash all the poor sailors into submission?”

“Something like that,” Steve grins. His teeth flash in the sun and the spines on his back are fanned out from all the excitement, his tail an undulating shadow against the ocean floor.

The sun is dazzling overhead and there’s not a cloud in the sky; the sea is calm and clear.

This time, Bucky doesn’t resist the urge to touch, let’s out a quiet laugh of “well two can play at that game” before tackling Steve into the waves.

 

~~~*~~~

It’s the middle of the summer and Bucky doesn’t want to move. He’s sprawled out on a beach towel with the sun beating down on him and sunscreen slathered across his chest, listening to the sounds of the waves pushing onto shore and Steve diving in and out of the water.

“Steve,” he groans. “How are you not tired yet?”

Because they’ve been out here at least three hours, Bucky swimming with Steve for the first half of it before surrendering to the insufferable heat and crawling up onto the beach to die. And Steve’s still going, darting around under the water like he hasn’t already traversed the entire length of the beach twenty times over.

“It’s cooler in the water,” Steve calls back. “You should come back in.”

Bucky lets out another groan.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors baking out in the sun like that.”

“Shut up,” Bucky whines, rolling over onto his stomach and wincing when he realizes Steve’s right, that he’s already managed to burn his chest. But— “I don’t want to move.”

It’s hot, and sticky, and even though he knows the water would be blessedly cool it’s still _motion._ He’d have to stand up, walk to the water, and then swim around and fight the currents all while the sun was still beating down on him like the sadist it is.

So, overall: not worth it.

He’ll just lay here until he becomes a raisin, let the tide get him and wash him out to sea.

“Bucky!” Steve calls, apparently not going to take no for an answer, because only moments later Bucky feels a spray of water across his back, a freezing jolt against his warm skin that has him squirming to the side and shooting a glare in Steve’s direction. “No excuse now,” Steve grins. “C’mon, you won’t even have to swim.”

Bucky pouts at him but stands regardless, slogs his way down to the water and plops down into the shallow area just beyond where Steve’s swimming. The water only goes up to his stomach but it still feels like a small miracle.

Steve swims up to him a moment later and Bucky can feel the water he displaces against his side, turns to look at him through half-opened eyes and an increasingly familiar tingling in his spine.

A minute goes by and neither of them says anything, Steve drawing his fingers through the sand and Bucky watching him lazily, caught on the lines of his profile and the way the sun reflects off his skin. A group of seagulls flies overhead, their cries loud in the open sky as Steve settles.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve finally says, voice soft and eyes still on the ocean floor.

His fingers aren’t making patterns anymore and his spines are lifted slightly off his back, lines of his shoulders tight like he’s nervous _._ And that’s something Bucky never wants to see. Not when it’s just them, not when Steve has nothing to be nervous about at all.

Without a second thought Bucky rolls over so he’s on his stomach as well, pressed right up against Steve’s side with barely an inch between their faces. Steve’s eyes are wide and unprepared when Bucky nudges his shoulder and grins, “Hey what?”

But it’s done the trick because Steve smiles back, lets out a small laugh before ducking his head and turning back in Bucky’s direction. “Was gonna ask…” There’s a hitch in his breath and his shoulders twitch to square. “Do you trust me?”

“Course I do, Steve.”

There’s no hesitation and for a moment Bucky’s surprised at how quickly, how _naturally_ , the words came from his lips. But then he realizes how true they are, how in the short span of a month he’s come to trust Steve like he’s known him his whole life. He bites down on his lip to stop the stupid smile that wants to take over his face and settles for nudging Steve again, lowering his voice to say again, “Course I do.”

A faint blush colors Steve’s cheeks but it’s gone before Bucky can properly take it in, replaced in the blink of an eye by another one of Steve’s pointy smiles. “Can I take you swimming, then?”

And at first Bucky doesn’t really get it, because he and Steve swim together practically every day, but then he starts to realize the seriousness of Steve’s statement and the way Steve’s still watching him carefully from a hairsbreadth away. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Like, _swimming_ swimming, way out there?”

Steve nods and Bucky swallows, darts a quick glance back over their shoulders to the unassuming waves. “I— Alright. Sure.”

Bucky turns back to look at Steve but the other man’s got a little furrow between his brow, blue eyes tight and unsure. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No,” Bucky’s quick to assure. “No, I was just surprised is all. You took me off guard.”

“We’ll just go out a little ways,” Steve’s eyes flicker across Bucky’s face, gauging each of his reactions. “And you don’t have to go underwater if you don’t want to.”

Honestly, it’s pretty adorable how earnest and worried Steve’s gotten about the whole thing, and Bucky lets him go on for a little while before cutting him off-- standing and stretching his arms above his head, letting out a satisfied grunt as his back cracks as he wades out into deeper water. Steve’s at his side in a flash, circling around him until the water gets deep enough for Bucky to swim. Then he just stays by Bucky’s side.

Once they get out past the sandbar, _that’s_ when Steve starts to get more protective. He ducks under the water quickly, disappears for a while before popping back up and declaring the area clear.

“No sharks, then?” Bucky asks, rolling onto his back and trying not to think about the giant tract of blue below him... The creatures that could be lurking on the ocean floor, touched by his shadow.

“No sharks,” Steve assures. He blinks and the film across his eyes disappears, revealing the gorgeous blue that Bucky wishes he could fall into. And maybe he has in a way, considering that it’s often the last thing he thinks of before he goes to sleep, the thing that haunts him out of all Steve’s defining features.

There’s just something about his _eyes_ that Bucky can’t quite place.

They float for a long time, Bucky drifting comfortably with the cool water a balm against his overheated skin. Steve swims around him, below him, occasionally putting a hand on Bucky’s arm or ankle to keep him from getting swept too far out to sea. Eventually, Bucky lets his eyes close.

He knows Steve won’t let anything happen. Knows that while he’s relaxing, Steve’s checking the open waters, the currents, anything that could pose him any harm. And even if something did manage to go wrong, he knows Steve would save him or die trying. So he drifts, rocked by the waves, limbs outstretched and water lapping across his chest.

“Steve?” he asks a few minutes later, a thought in his head and something tight clenching at his chest. (Because god, if Steve’s beautiful above the water he can only imagine what he’ll be like beneath it.)

He cracks open an eye and notices Steve isn’t there, rights himself and begins treading water while he waits for Steve to resurface. It only takes a few seconds, Steve coming up right beside him with that adorable worried crease back between his eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bucky says, preempts the question he knows is coming. “I was just wondering if you— if we could go under water? Not too deep, obviously.”

Steve regards him silently for a moment then nods, waits for Bucky to get his goggles out and positioned on his face. The water around them is as calm as ever but Bucky feels electricity racing up and down his spine, making him fidget as Steve turns so Bucky can get ahold of his waist. His fingers wrap around the smooth transition from skin to scales, Steve solid and warmth beneath his palms.

And then they’re diving, Steve taking them down a few feet before Bucky lets go, trying to stay under for as long as he can so he can watch Steve swim around him. Because submerged under the water like they are, Bucky can finally see Steve in the environment he belongs. On the shore they’re both pretty slow and awkward, Bucky trudging through wet sand and Steve stuck skimming through the shallows. But Bucky still has the advantage, able to run if he wants, move the rest of his body as if he were on solid land while Steve’s constricted to the few inches of water that hold him.

Now, with nothing but the vast expanse of the ocean around them, Steve is _free._ And Bucky’s never seen anything more beautiful.

The spines on his back are fully extended, helping him cut through the water with each effortless swipe of his tail, arms helping him flip or dive or turn whenever he sees fit.

When they break the surface Bucky’s breathless, but it’s not from the lack of air. And Steve seems to realize, a smug grin on his face and a slight blush to his cheeks as he waits for Bucky to refill his lungs. Then they’re going under again, Steve gliding just beneath Bucky’s chest and urging him to hold on. And he does, wraps himself around Steve’s torso like some kind of oversized barnacle before he pushes them deeper beneath the waves.

Like this, he can feel every movement of Steve’s body-- the bunching of muscles in his back that flow into the smooth arch of his tail, the rush of water through his gills that tickles Bucky’s thighs. Steve’s spines are pressed down, caught beneath Bucky’s chest and quivering slightly with each motion as the muscles twitch in reflex, trying to stabilize even though there’s nothing they can do. So the rides not quite as smooth as it could be, but Bucky’s more than happy to deal with a little imbalance if it means experiencing part of Steve’s world like this.

Unfortunately Bucky _is_ still human, with human lungs, and Steve has to head for the surface after not very long at all. The water splashes and ripples around them as they come up and Bucky’s smiling, beaming brighter than the sun.

“That was amazing,” he says. He lets go of Steve and treads water on his own again, waits for Steve to turn around and face him before saying it again, “That was _amazing._ ”

And god does he mean it. Unbelievable. Unforgettable.

Steve grins back at him, the sun glistening in the waves all around them, and Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to head back to shore.

~~~*~~~

_The waves are dark around him, somehow inky black despite the searing sun overhead. His skin is hot and tight and his eyes are straining to see into the darkness, searching so hard for something he’s sure he’ll never find._

_He’s lost her._

_It was his job and he’d failed and he’d lost her._

_The ocean is a sinister, dark, unbroken shadow and his sister is trapped somewhere underneath. His lungs burn and he tries to scream her name but nothing comes out, just the horrible feeling of saltwater ripping at his throat as water fills his mouth and drips from between his lips. He’s going under, too. Or he should have. Should have followed her, should have..._

_A wave crashes against him and he tries to fight it, tries to push back against the crushing weight of the water and just barely makes it. Another mouthful of water leaves his lips, but he forces himself to stay in the water. To wait. He has to wait. He just knows it._

_The sun is still glaring down at him, the sky a sharp, unrelenting blue as bright as the water is dark, making his head hurt and his eyes sting. He’s still fighting against the waves, but he’s given up trying to yell, just coughs weakly and tastes the tang of salt against his tongue. It’s all started to seem useless, he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Doesn’t remember. He’s already failed._

_He starts coughing harder. Harder and harder until he’s sure there must be blood coming up with all of the water._

_A hand lands on his shoulder and he jerks, spinning violently and pushing at the clammy skin of someone’s chest. He feels someone else tugging on his arm and hears his sister calling his name, somehow still alive. Somehow…_

_His eyes go out over the waves and lock onto brilliant blue, not dark and cruel like the water or blinding like the sky… It’s a shade of blue he knows he’s seen before. Familiar. Comforting._

_But he only gets to see it for a moment before it’s gone, swallowed beneath a rising swell that crashes down into the unforgiving sea. He lets out another yell, somehow gets it out past all of the water because **no, no this cannot be happening, this cannot--**_

Bucky wakes up with a jolt, covered in sweat and heaving on every inhale. His fingers are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white and forearms strained with the effort. The dream had been horrible. Too real, too close to home…

And oh god _Steve._

He tumbles out of bed and crashes his way through the house, pushes through the front door and runs all the way down to the beach before he really realizes what he’s doing. And he knows he’s being irrational, knows it was just a dream but he still can’t stop himself, can’t control the shout of Steve’s name that rips from him and carries out over the waves.

He’s still panting, heart thumping hard in his chest as he falls back into the sand, rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head between them.

“Steve,” he whispers. “Steve, please. Please, god, don’t let him— Don’t let it be real.”

The stars are out overhead. The night is calm and clear and open, not a cloud in the sky. The sand is cool beneath the soles of his feet and the pads of his toes.

“ _Steve!?_ ” He shouts again. There’s a crack in his voice, something broken and defeated as he forces himself to take a few deep breaths. To think rationally.

Because it’s the middle of the night, there’s no way Steve would ever expect him to be here. And Bucky has no idea where Steve goes at night anyway, how deep he dives, how far out from shore he travels. Scientifically speaking, for Steve to hear him from underwater, let alone loud enough to be woken up, would be nothing short of a miracle.

There’s a splash a few yards out, a soft sound that Bucky nearly brushes off before he hears a round of very familiar coughing followed by a raspy, “Bucky?”

And Bucky’s standing waist deep in the water before he knows it, pushing his way towards Steve’s concerned expression as fast as he can, practically picking Steve up out of the waves as he wraps his arms around him and tugs him to his chest.

“God, Steve,” he whispers. “Thank god.”

Steve’s arms wrap around him tentatively at first, then more firmly once he realizes Bucky isn’t letting go. “Buck?” he asks, voice still gravelly and soft. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Bucky just shakes his head, buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and tries to get himself back in order. Steve’s okay. He takes a deep breath, squeezes Steve tighter to him.

Steve’s _okay._ It was just a dream.

“It was just a dream,” he whispers.

“A dream?” Steve pulls back a bit, just enough to search Bucky’s eyes with his own. “You had a nightmare?”

Bucky nods, reaches up and cups Steve’s cheek with a shaky hand, runs his thumb just beneath his milky blue eye. Steve blinks and Bucky gasps, has to bite his lip against the flood of realization that crashes into him. Because Steve’s _eyes._ His gorgeous, haunting blue eyes…

He knew he’d seen them before. He knew it.

“You saved a little girl once, didn’t you?” He asks softly.

Steve’s brow furrows, his face the picture of perfect confusion still cradled in Bucky’s hand.

“You did,” Bucky murmurs. “I know you did. Because I recognized these eyes,” he traces underneath one of them with his thumb again, slides easily against the cool moisture there. “That little girl was my sister. The boy you returned her to was me.”

Recognition sweeps over Steve’s face and it’s followed quickly by guilt, anger, regret, a whole swirl of emotions that Bucky doesn’t understand. “I remember…” Steve’s voice wavers and he stops, looks away from Bucky’s eyes before continuing. “I shouldn’t have waited as long as I did to intervene. I should never have let it go so far _._ ”

Bucky shakes his head, “Steve, you did your best. You couldn’t have been any older than me at the time, and you already know how worthless I was. I’m just glad you were there at all.”

Steve’s quiet for a long time, just staring down at the waves with the moon reflected all around them. The silence is startling after the past few minutes of panic and realization and Bucky’s too afraid to break it once it settles. So he waits.

He’s still got an arm around Steve’s back, holding him half out of the water. And his hand is still cupped around Steve’s cheek, too. It can’t be entirely comfortable for Steve, especially with the way his spines are crushed against his back and his hands are grasping Bucky’s shoulders for balance, so he takes a moment to sink them both down into the water, pushing back so it’s shallow enough for him to sit down and have the water come up to the center of his chest.

He doesn’t release Steve, and Steve doesn’t try to go, just lets Bucky hold him until the moon is far on the other side of the horizon and the sun is just beginning to kiss the tops of the waves.

~~~*~~~

“Steve, that’s disgusting.” Bucky says, trying (and failing) not to smile at the way Steve starts laughing at him, a bright sound dancing over the waves.

“It’s _delicious_ ,” Steve calls back, making a show of opening his mouth wide before biting back down into the fish’s side, scales and skin and _everything else_ included.

Bucky scrunches his face up then leans down to grab a grape from his lunchbox, chucks it out to where Steve is floating in the water. It plops right in the center of Steve’s chest, sending a small splash of water up into the other man’s face.

Steve stares at it for a moment then lifts it to his mouth, spears it with one curious tooth before licking at the drop of sweet liquid that pearled out of the thin, green skin. Then it’s Steve’s face that’s scrunching up in distaste. The grape drops into the water and Steve watches it bob in the waves, glaring at it as he takes another bite from the fish in his hands.

“And you call me disgusting.” Steve mutters. “I’m not the one eating grainy water.”

Bucky laughs and sprawls back out on his checkered blanket, sunglasses a welcome barrier against the rays of the sun.

The summer was passing its halfway point, now two months gone by since Steve had washed up to shore. They still spend their mornings together, their afternoons, and their evenings, the hours spent apart steadily decreasing as time goes on. But today is special because Bucky had suggested a picnic, had lugged a blanket and lunchbox and even a few cans of beer down to the beach to enjoy with Steve.

He really should’ve known that human food wasn’t on Steve’s menu.

And he really should’ve seen it coming when Steve disappeared for a few minutes to go ‘grab his own lunch’ and resurfaced with one fish caught between his teeth and another clutched in hand. But somehow, that first bite of raw fish had managed to startle him. Especially when Steve had grinned at him immediately afterwards, flash of sharp teeth stained slightly pink, tongue coming out to clean his lips before taking another bite.

(A shudder had run up Bucky’s spine and he still wasn’t convinced it was entirely out of distaste.)

But he’s over it now, just using it as a way to tease Steve as they both enjoy the sun on their shoulders and the constant low crashing of the waves.

“You know,” Steve calls, swimming in lazy circles while staring up at the sky. “Your people eat raw fish, too.”

Bucky lifts an eyebrow at the tone of Steve’s voice, sitting up just in time to see Steve finish off the last of his meal, the tail slipping past his lips before a powerful crush of his jaws has the sounds of popping bone and cartilage reaching Bucky back on the beach. Bucky shakes his head, “So, what’re you trying to say?”

“That maybe you’re just being a baby?” Steve grins, teeth pink again and flaunting it as he runs his tongue along their pointed edges. A flick of his tail sends water splashing up onto shore, just far enough to have droplets spraying across Bucky’s legs and chest.

He recognizes the challenge and stands, wades his way out into the water until he’s towering above Steve’s thin chest, staring down into glinting eyes full of mischief that Bucky can’t wait to see play out. Sure enough, it takes only a moment before Steve’s reaching up and clasping his hands around Bucky’s waist, doing some complicated maneuver in the water that has Bucky splashing down into the shallows and Steve sprawled out on top of him. Steve’s laugh rings out like a bell and his skin’s slightly warmer where it’s been soaking up the sun.

Something warm blooms low in Bucky’s chest, swells until he feels like he might burst. “You’re a fan of picking fights, aren’t you?” Bucky smiles, wet hair plastered to his forehead and Steve dripping on him from above. “Although I suppose I should’ve known better than to fall for it by now.”

Steve just keeps grinning at him, predatory smile turned smooth and endearing until Bucky’s fighting not to lean up and see what it tastes like, see what the curve of those lips would feel like against his own. So he swallows, lets out his own short laugh that has Steve bouncing on his chest, then shakes out his hair like some kind of overgrown Labrador retriever. It doesn’t do much to dislodge Steve, but it helps him get his thoughts back in order, enough so that when he looks up again he can smile back without anything tightening the corners.

“Guess you’ll just never learn, Buck.” Steve teases.

There’s sunlight warming up the world all around them, glistening off the water droplets hanging in Steve’s hair and Bucky can’t help the way he melts inside, can’t manage more than a weak push to Steve’s shoulder and a chuckle of, “Well stop testing me then, punk.”

They stay like that for a few moments more, suspended in their own kind of paradise until the next wave comes and catches them in its pull, jostles them back into reality. A seagull floats overhead and cries out at the sea and Bucky looks up at the sound. The sun’s brighter than he remembers and he has to blink at the sudden intensity of it, misses the moment when Steve finally slips back into the water because of that treacherous blazing heat.

He feels the tip of Steve’s tail brush his thigh as the smaller man pushes into deeper water and Bucky turns to watch him. Steve vanishes beneath the surface, but doesn’t go deep. He’s still close enough to the surface and the shore for Bucky to see his shadow, watch the way it weaves and rolls through the waves before splashing back into the salty ocean air. He’s dripping wet again and Bucky doesn’t miss the way Steve’s spines are stretching either, how his back rolls to relieve the stiffness from staying so long in the shallows.

It’s not the first time Bucky realizes that being above water is a lot harder on Steve than he’ll ever admit.

“Want to call it a day?” Bucky asks, knowing it would be best for Steve but wishing for more time together all the same. If only he could grow gills and a tail like Steve, join him in the water without fear of getting out too far and going under. Or even if Steve could have an easier time out in the open air…

Useless wishes, but something he can’t help but dream about all the time.

Steve frowns and looks up at the sun, still high in the sky and not nearly as low as when they usually part ways for the night. “Wore you out already, Buck?” he grins. “Didn’t think you were so delicate.”

“Just thought you might want some time out in the ocean, you know.” Bucky shrugs, trying for nonchalant. If Steve knew what Bucky was thinking, there’d be hell to pay for sure. But that’s not the only reason Bucky has to be worried. He kicks at the water and slips his thumbs into the waistband of his trunks. “A little time to yourself where you didn’t need to worry about me. Gotta take a break sometime, right?”

Steve’s eyes narrow and even with the distance between them Bucky can tell he’s said something wrong. An agitated swing of Steve’s tail seals the assumption.

“Don’t need a break from anything, least of all you.” Steve says, chin pushed out and jaw tense. The spines on his back are quivering with poorly concealed frustration and Bucky huffs because this is the last thing he wanted.

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands raising in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry I mentioned it.”

There’s another beat of tense silence before Steve visibly relaxes and shakes his head, “Don’t need to apologize, I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Bucky scoffs. “My mama may’ve taught me to be polite, but I know that my presence is a gift. No way you can get tired of me that easily.” He bites his lip at the way Steve’s eyes roll, keeps a straight face as he says, “Probably miss me all night, too. Stare longingly up at my windows…”

He gets a splash to the face for that one, Steve slipping beneath the waves and emerging smoothly at his side just to drench him in salt water. “You wish,” he says. “But I’ve actually got better things to do with my time than wonder how loudly you’re snoring. Which reminds me...”

“Hey!” Bucky makes an affronted noise and gives Steve a nudge with his calve. “I don’t snore.”

But Steve’s not actually paying him much attention, swimming back out into the waves instead and turning back to Bucky once he’s a few yards away. “I’ll be back in a minute! Try not to do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I?” Bucky grins. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Steve’s glare at that remark burns brighter than the sun, but Bucky takes it in stride, enjoys it for the twitch of amusement that he also sees at the curve of Steve’s lips. He has no idea where Steve’s gone off to or when exactly he’ll be back so he wades back to shore and plops down in the shallow water to wait. Curiosity tickles at the back of his mind as he plays with the tiny rocks and shells buried in wet sand, sifting them through his fingers and stirring up silt in the waves. He drifts with his thoughts- wondering what part of their conversation had Steve swimming off, wondering what Steve actually does at night and in his free time, wondering how he’s going to find the motivation to haul all of his crap back inside tonight...

“Are you always this oblivious?” Steve asks, right up in Bucky’s space, making him yelp and scramble backwards in the water.

His heart is pounding in his chest and he shoves Steve back with a hand on his shoulder while he tries to catch his breath. “Shit, Steve. You just took ten years off my life.”

“Quit being so dramatic,” Steve says, swimming back up beside him and situating himself in the sand. “And you should pay more attention to your surroundings anyways. Not my fault you’re a sitting duck.”

“ _Not my fault you’re a sitting duck,_ ” Bucky grumbles, watching curiously from the corner of his eye as Steve removes some kind of pouch from around his neck. It looks like it’s made from seaweed or some other kind of plant material and his mind immediately takes him to all of the other inventions and innovations that could be hidden beneath the sea. Steve isn’t just a marine biologist’s wet dream (pun intended), he’s an anthropologist’s, a social scientist’s, hell maybe even a historian’s. Because Steve represents not just another fantastic organism inhabiting the earth’s oceans, he represents an entirely different culture, civilization, way of being. He might as well be an alien for all Bucky truly knows about his life underneath the waves.

Steve hands over the pouch and Bucky takes his time looking it over, examining the strap of what he now recognizes as woven kelp stipes, the way it fastens into the intricately folded blades with carved shells and sturdy knots. It’s fascinating; it’s delicate but strong in his hands; it’s something he wants to take home and deconstruct and study...And it’s not until he notices the way Steve’s staring at him that he realizes he’s supposed to be looking at what’s actually _in_ the bag, not the bag itself. He grins sheepishly and unclasps the bits of polished stone holding the bag closed, reaches his hand carefully inside of the first main pocket.

He comes back with a handful of sea glass, different shapes and colors and sizes all polished smooth by the water and sand, now clacking together softly in the bit of moisture still trapped in the cup of his hand. “Steve,” he says softly. “When did you…?”

“I might not’ve been looking at your windows, but I did think about you. Sometimes.” He pushes at Bucky’s shoulder and gives him a crooked grin. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

It’s something he knows he’s only mentioned a couple of times, offhand comments when he’d found a piece of sea glass in the sand and tucked it into the pocket of his trunks. But it’s obvious Steve had been listening, watching, had taken in Bucky’s fascination with the sea and decided to spend his nights finding things to feed it. With that in mind he goes to look in the second pocket, the larger of the two and the main area of the pouch itself, and it’s like Steve carried a mini treasure chest slung over his shoulders. There’s a sample of different shells inside, all whole and perfect. There’re bits of algae, the body of a brittle starfish, and even a tiny piece of coral wrapped in its own blade of kelp. Bucky takes his time with that one, unwraps it and studies it closely, looks to Steve with his mouth slack and his eyebrows raised. “Is this...?”

“I think so,” Steve shrugs, smiling at Bucky’s obvious enthusiasm. “I didn’t know for sure since our names for things aren’t the same as yours, but I couldn’t think of anything else that matched the description. And before you ask, this is a bit that a fish pulled off but didn’t completely eat. So the coral would’ve lost it anyway.”

Bucky appreciates the disclaimer but by that time he’s already focused back on the piece of coral in his hand, staring down at it in disbelief. Because this piece of coral had come from 600 feet below the surface- at least. And had only been discovered by scientists just months before. He’d come to Steve one day with a spring in his step and fire in his eyes and let out all of his pent up amazement with the sea- how even after so many years they were still finding things right off their shores. How the sea would just never stop producing surprises. How much he wished he could go down there and see things for himself.

Well, apparently Steve had decided to just bring some of those things up to Bucky instead.

“Steve, this is- This is incredible.” He holds the little chunk of coral up closer to the sun, as if the new vantage point could somehow coax it to divulge some of its secrets (but stranger things have happened in his life so he’s learned to doubt the word ‘impossible’). “I can’t believe I’m holding this in my hand right now. Those other scientists, they spent tons of money and countless years and so many people and different pieces of technology and… and all for something you just swam down and grabbed like it was nothing.”

“Hey,” Steve laughs, “I still had to swim down there. Had to sit and wait for a fish to come by…” His voice trails off expectantly and he looks up at Bucky with mirth clear in every facet of his expression.

“Oh yeah I’m sure you suffered,” Bucky plays along. But just for a moment, laughing lightly before getting serious again, staring down at the gifts in his hand and those that he already tucked back into the pouch. “But seriously, thank you. Most people spend years and thousands of dollars before they get to look at something so newly discovered.”

By this point Steve’s fidgeting a bit, clearly unused to and thereby uncomfortable with all the praise. But fuck that because Bucky’s going to praise the hell out of him anyway. Because he’s amazing and thoughtful and kind and- “You’re a really good guy, you know that Steve?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head. “C’mon, Buck. I’m just-”

“No, you’re not ‘just’ anything.” Bucky cuts him off. He reaches over and puts a careful hand on Steve’s shoulder, warm palm against Steve’s slightly cooler skin. “You’re amazing, Steve. And don’t you doubt that for a second. I’ll tell you every day ‘til you believe it if I have to.”

The waves are crashing gently against them, mostly foam in the ebbing tide, and the sun’s started its descent into the faded horizon. They’ve still got a few hours until dark but to Bucky that time seems monumentally short, especially with the way Steve’s looking up at him with his brilliant blue eyes so full of disbelief but also with a touch of something else that Bucky doesn’t dare name.

“And that’s a promise,” he says, swallowing thickly before clearing his throat and letting his eyes dart out over the whitecaps just starting up farther out to sea. “And you know I never break my promises.”

Steve’s head cocks to the side. “You don’t,” he says carefully. “And neither do I.”

They stare at each other for a moment longer, Bucky sweating under the heat of the sun and Steve’s unrelenting gaze- it’s piercing and haunting and serves as a stark reminder that Steve’s not quite as human as Bucky’s gotten used to believing. Then Steve blinks and the moment’s broken, Bucky letting out a breath that had gotten stuck in his chest then sucking it back in again as soon as Steve opens his mouth to ask, “Can I promise you something, Buck?”

And Bucky grins crookedly, doesn’t know how else to play it off because he suddenly feels like he’s back out in the open ocean, god knows how many feet of water beneath him and completely at the mercy of the waves and whatever’s swimming below him. “Usually don’t ask when you’re making the promises yourself, Steve.”

“Maybe,” Steve hums. “But promises are something we take very seriously. More seriously than your people do, at least. It’s polite to ask first when a promise directly involves another.”

Bucky swallows again. “Uh, yeah. Okay then. Sure, go ahead. Promise away.” And he knows he’s probably being a culturally insensitive dick but the waves are cresting over his head now and he’s so far out of his depth that he could laugh. All the air’s been sucked from his lungs and it’s hard to ask Steve to save him from drowning when he’s the one who put him here in the first place. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if this is how Steve feels when he’s on land- like he can breathe but everything’s still slightly out of place, _wrong_.

“I promise I won’t leave you,” Steve whispers, voice soft and melodic against the waves. There’s a richness to the words that Bucky’s never heard before, a kind of hypnotic drone and high-pitched tremor that leaves him blinking in the aftermath. He feels a lump forming in his throat.

Because _shit_ he’ll never get over just how much Steve sees with those piercing blue eyes.

“Thanks,” he says, voice rough with the emotions he’s apparently failed at suppressing. But how can you blame him? He’s hardly even admitted to himself how lonely he gets out here, at his tiny family cabin at the edge of everything without another soul in sight. He can go into town sometimes, sure, can go for groceries or a drink or even just a stroll through the worn out streets. But it’s not the same as hearing his sister’s laugh ringing down the stairs, as seeing his mother staring out the window towards the beach.

He loves to come here for the beach and the marine life and the chance to spend his summer in peace. But it still hits him hard, in the middle of the night with the stars glittering millions and millions of miles overhead, just how alone he is.

Or at least that’s how it had been. Before Steve.

Before this lithe, sassy shit of a man came crashing into his life and turned everything upside down but made the sun shine so much brighter all the same. He can’t even imagine going back to the way things were before. Can’t imagine coming out to the beach without his eyes scanning the waves for light brown spines, for blond hair turned dark with the sea.

He blinks his eyes back into focus before they can get any more misty and when he looks down he realizes Steve is no longer there, just smooth brown sand and a smattering of shells by his side. His head jerks up and his heart’s in his throat but Steve’s only a few feet away, in the shallows, swimming in lazy circles and rolls and quite obviously wetting himself down again while simultaneously giving Bucky time to think.

When he pops to the surface again he’s grinning, teeth sharp and glinting like the light in his eyes. Bucky takes a deep breath and smiles back.

“You ready for a swim, then?” Steve asks.

“A swim,” Bucky repeats dumbly, mind already spiraling down into _that_ particular possibility. All Steve’s wet skin, the feel of his hand around Bucky’s ankle, his wrist. The warmth of him between Bucky’s thighs whenever they dive under… The feel of his muscles moving beneath Bucky’s hands… “I- I think I’m gonna have to pass for tonight, Steve. Wore me out already.”

“Uh huh,” Steve says slowly, teasingly. Completely aware of what he’d done.

The little shit.

“In fact,” Bucky says, drawing his voice out and looking straight out over the waves as he slowly approaches Steve from the side. Steve’s already eyeing him warily but Bucky knows there’s no way he’ll see this coming. “I think you’ve got me so tired that I can’t even make it to shore.” And just like that Bucky’s down like a rock, going limp and boneless on top of Steve’s back.

The spines are uncomfortable and there’s water in his mouth but the surprised grunt he gets from Steve makes it all worthwhile. They’re a heap of skin and muscle and scale, tangled together near the point of painful. But it’s also warm and perfect, their teeth flashing and their chests heaving as they laugh, falling further into the waves and one another.

~~~*~~~

_Thunder rumbles and crashes overhead, powerful bursts of sound and light that rip apart the beach and leave Bucky’s heart thudding in his chest. Spray is lashing against Bucky’s face, wind whipping through his hair, and he can’t tell where the pitch black of the sky meets the dark, foreboding water. The beach is suddenly cold and unfamiliar around him where he stands on the shore looking out into the gloom. His feet are buried in the sand and his eyes strain to make sense of anything around him._

_Something catches his attention out by the rocks, a flash of color that he can’t quite place. A gull screeches overhead._

_Waves pound into the beach and spring up in frothy walls, obliterating shell and rock with each swell that breaks against the sand. The tide pulls back and in the beat of silence between one rolling wave and the next the gull cries again, louder, longer, and something in Bucky’s mind clicks. Realization washes over him like a flood._

_Someone is screaming **.**_

_He runs out into the water, past where it breaks against the shore, past the first sandbar, then the second, pushes out until he’s further than he’s ever been before. The bottom drops out from beneath him and suddenly the shore seems to disappear, leaving him stranded and floating above an endless abyss. Another round of thunder booms overhead, drowning out the screams for a few precious seconds before they’re once again carrying over the waves, washing over Bucky like ice water._

_Something bumps against his leg and he tenses, kicks out at it, completely unprepared for the pain that follows, the all-consuming blackness as he gets drug beneath the waves. Air escapes his lungs in big, wobbling bubbles as he screams into the dark, pulled further and further below the surface as pain shoots up his leg. He’s just begun to orient himself again when he’s rammed from the side, pain shooting up his other leg as the world devolves into a swirl of water and the tiny bubbles of air punched from his lungs._

_His mind belatedly comes to terms with the feeling of teeth piercing through his flesh just in time for another set of jaws to sink into his arm, his side, tugging and shaking and pulling until he’s sure there’s nothing left of him but a trail of blood in the water. Everything goes dark and the roll of thunder is a hollow sound in the distance as he begins to sink on his own, caught in the currents and the tide, drifting, swimming forwards even though he doesn’t know where to go. Just that there’s something out there. Something he needs to get to._

_A crack of lightning splits the sky, illuminates the swells and whitecaps looming just beyond the shore. Bucky blinks at the sudden change, sucks in a lungful of air, looks down at his body and wonders at the lack of pain, the lack of cuts or bruises or blood. His head snaps up at the next roll of thunder._

_His eyes look out over the roiling sea just in time for another bolt of lightning to splinter the night, shatter the sea and the horizon into crystalline pieces, black glass suddenly turned red in the harsh light. His feet move on their own towards the surf, water up to his calves before he’s overcome with the smell of iron **.** It’s sharp and cloying, on his tongue and in his nose and all around him. He wades out further as if in a trance until the water is lapping at his chest. He brings a hand up in front of his face as a swell builds in the distance, sees the red staining his palm and stares at it in horror as the wave grows closer. There’s another roll of thunder, another crack of lightning, and through the howling of the wind Bucky hears another scream pierce the air. His blood runs cold and his heart stops in his chest. Because he knows that voice._

_“Steve?”_

_He yells into the abyss and watches as brilliant blue is swallowed by unforgiving red, has just enough time to scream before the swell overtakes him as well, plunges the world back into darkness- cold and thick and clinging to him like death itself._

_His throat is raw with salt water._

Bucky wakes with his heart in his throat, sweat rolling down his neck and chest heaving. He’s already sitting up, staring blankly into the room, disoriented by the dull light filtering in from the windows and the gentle silence of the wind brushing through the curtains. It’s too calm, too peaceful, too _normal_ to match the terror rapidly mounting in his veins.

He’s up before he truly knows what he’s doing, running outside at a sprint in nothing but his boxers. Gravel, dirt, and sand disappear beneath his feet.

“Steve?” he shouts. He’s at the edge of the shore and there’s a shiver running up and down his spine despite the warm sun already rising overhead. The cold settles somewhere in the pit of his stomach and he shouts again, moves further down the beach towards the rocky outcrop he’d seen in his dream. (A part of him is still praying that it _was_ just a dream. That if he waits long enough Steve will come popping above the waves like the last time, will assure him that everything’s okay.)

But minutes pass and there’s still no sign of a response. He can’t swim out to look for Steve in the depths below the rolling waves, so he just keeps on his path, heading towards where the waves are crashing against some algae covered rock. The water comes up to his calves and then his waist as he splashes clumsily towards the outcrop, drenched and panting and half out of his mind once he finally gets there.

But he’s alone. Steve isn’t on the rocks or in the shallows nearby.

Bucky scrubs a hand across his face and tries to hold back the tears of frustration. The sun’s still beating down on him and the waves are still crashing out in the sea. A gull screams overhead. He lets out his own yell to match it, screams at the sky and watches as the bird swerves in fright, shadow dipping behind a patch of nearby rock before flying back out to sea. Bucky follows it down to the shoreline with his eyes then freezes, feels the entire world grind to a halt around him before picking up again at a dizzying speed.

Because lying just out of reach of the receding tide, bloodied and broken and unmoving, is-

“ _Steve!_ ”

It’s his nightmare come to life, red where pale skin and scale should be, nearby water stained dark with the blood still oozing from Steve’s battered form.

“Steve!” he shouts again, voice rising above the surf as he skids down the rocky slope. Blood from his knees mixes with the blood on the ground as he kneels at Steve’s side, puts a shaking hand on Steve’s forehead and pushes the hair back from his face- it’s damp and salt-hardened to the touch, drier than Bucky’s ever seen and made tacky with blood.

Bucky wants to be sick.

But Steve’s chest is rising and falling shallowly, so at least he’s still alive, and Bucky knows he needs to get him back in some water, _fast_. But how, and where?

Steve’s wounds make putting him back in the ocean out of the question and Bucky doesn’t even know how severely Steve’s injured, if moving him even the half mile or so back up to the house would cause more serious damage. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he pulls up on one of Steve’s eyelids and checks the pupil beneath the second thin film. It contracts slightly to the light and isn’t overly dilated, so Bucky moves onto checking the flesh wounds covering Steve’s frame. There are deep lacerations on his tail, puncture wounds along his right side, and a number of scrapes and scratches along his body from his journey up onto the rocks.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “C’mon, Steve. Gotta help me out here, pal, don’t know what to do with you.” Because there are no other humans to turn to, no way to contact any of Steve’s people, so unless Steve comes to Bucky’ll just be flying by the seat of his pants. It’s an idea that does anything but thrill him. The last thing he wants to do is make a mistake and have it costing Steve his life. But he can’t just leave him lying here either.

“Steve,” he says again, rubbing gently at Steve’s uninjured shoulder. “C’mon, _please_ just open your eyes. Two minutes, Steve. Wake up for two minutes and then you can pass out for a while. Gotta help me out here. Gotta help me help you.”

He feels like he’s talking to himself, and in reality he probably is, but a few moments later Steve’s chest heaves and he lets out a groan, eyes fluttering beneath his lashes. “Bucky?” His voice is soft and heavy, slurred; his eyes are unfocused when they finally open to squint at the rocks. “Wh-?”

“Shhh,” Bucky croons, keeps rubbing at Steve’s shoulder even though his own muscles are set to pop. “You’re a bit banged up, gotta get you back in some water. Can you answer a few questions for me first?”

Steve grunts and squeezes his eyes shut, something Bucky takes as confirmation enough to start getting the information he needs.

“Salt water only, correct?”

“Mhm.”

“You remember your name?”

He gets an insulted grumble for that before the perfunctory, “Steve.”

“Do I need to do anything special with your gills? Keep water running over ‘em? Not gonna go catatonic on me are you?”

Steve shakes his head slowly, “Using my lungs right now. Gills don’t matter.”

Bucky can tell Steve’s slipping again and tries to wrap things up, “Alright, then I’m gonna get you moved. But you’ve got to hang on for me Steve, that’s the deal. I’ll fix you up if you just hang on long enough for me to do it. Got that?”

There’s no response from Steve and Bucky curses under his breath, adjusting to get better footing on the rock while he tries to keep Steve alert. “Need you to be still for me, okay?” he asks. Steve’s disoriented enough that Bucky doesn’t really expect an answer, but he should’ve known Steve would be a stubborn pain in the ass even half-shredded at death’s door.

Steve lifts one arm and drags it underneath his chest, manages to flip himself over before Bucky knows where to push down on his back to stop him. The bright blue sky is met with a harsh groan as Steve’s injuries come back to the forefront of his mind- fresh blood leaking over the rocks.

“Damnit, Steve!” Bucky does a quick once over of Steve’s chest then puts his hand square against Steve’s sternum, pins him down against the rocks with as much force as he dares. “You’re torn five ways to Sunday, stop moving around before you bleed out like an idiot!”

He has a moment of panic as he looks back towards the house, wonders how the hell he’s supposed to get Steve from here to there without making all of his injuries ten times worse. Not to mention the little issue that he doesn’t currently have a _saltwater pool_ just chilling in his backyard. The skin of Steve’s chest is cool and dry to the touch and Bucky knows he’s run out of time, that he needs to make a choice now and work with the consequences it may bring. So he steels himself and scoops Steve into his arms, heaves him up against his chest and starts the careful ascent back through the rocks.

It takes him about two minutes to get to his destination but it might as well have been two hours for the stress it put on his heart. He sets Steve down in a tidal pool higher up on the outcrop, one that only gets touched during the peak of high tide, and arranges him carefully against the algae-slick surface. Steve slipped back into unconsciousness sometime during the short trek so Bucky just lays a gentle hand on the side of his face, rubs over a delicate cheekbone with his thumb before standing and sprinting back to the house.

Because Steve needs help, and God help him if Bucky isn’t going to do his best to give it.

~~~*~~~

“Alright, Barnes, you can do this. You can. You _have_ to,” Bucky’s pacing around his kitchen, first aid box in hand and heart in his throat as he tries to give himself the pep talk of a lifetime. “Just don’t think about it. Just...one two three done. No worries. It’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

Bucky really wishes he could believe it, because it’s time to stitch up the worst of Steve’s injuries.

And he’s going into it with all of ten minutes of internet cramming to back him up.

The floor creaks softly under his feet as he makes his way to the door, giving way to the cool slide of tile as he steps into the bathroom. Steve’s lying in the tub with the water tinted a rusty red, dark with blood and swirling with whatever particulate had gotten carried in along with the ocean water— bucket after bucket hauled from the beach to create a safe place for Steve to stay.

There’s sweat on the back of Bucky’s neck and on his palms, heat and nerves making his fingers treacherously shaky. He takes a breath. Holds it. Gives himself another mental chastising to keep it together.

Steve’s looking at him from the corner of his eye, face pale and jaw clenched, trying so hard to pretend things aren’t as bad as they are when they both know the obvious truth.

It’s bad, _real_ bad.

Bucky breathes out, breathes in again, and kneels, takes his place by Steve’s side and takes his scalpel as well. The wounds need to be neatened out before they can be stitched, a process that involves cutting away any jagged flesh so that the two edges can come together cleanly. He understands the reasoning, the method seems straightforward enough, but he’s struggling profusely with the idea of causing Steve any more pain.

“It’s alright, Buck,” Steve says, like Bucky’s the one most in need of comfort.

Bucky just shakes his head. “I’ll try to be quick, but I’ve got to do this right.”

“It’s alright,” Steve grips the edge of the tub a bit tighter, forces the edges of his lips up into a smile. His arms are shaking and he’s so weak Bucky doesn’t know how he’s conscious but he puts it out of his mind, there’s too many mysteries surrounding Steve for him to worry about the miracles happening now.

The edge of the scalpel glints sharp against Steve’s pale skin and goes in with the barest of pressure from Bucky’s wrist. More blood drips and diffuses in the water like milky red clouds.

He tries to be quick, clean, precise. But Steve still shudders and grits his teeth and finally passes out before Bucky’s started in on the second gash. In some ways it’s a blessing, because now Bucky doesn’t have to worry about Steve being in pain, but the unnatural stillness has fear curling ice cold at the base of his spine and the pit of his stomach.

Time blurs and the scalpel alternates back and forth between needle and thread. He starts with Steve’s arm and pushes the first stitch into place, the clock on the wall ticking endlessly onwards while Bucky slips into a rhythm— the push and pull of the needle, the clammy slip of Steve’s skin against his palm. Minutes pass as he creates careful ridges along Steve’s arm and side, using harsh black lines to stem the flow of red.

Finally, Bucky finishes, ties off the last knot and rocks back on his heels with blood on his hands and murky water splashed on the bathroom floor, Steve a patchwork doll limp and unmoving in the water.

All they can do is hope.

And wait.

~~~*~~~

While he waits, he cleans.

The kitchen, the living room, anything and everything within reach gets straightened and wiped down. There’s too much nervous energy in his veins for him to do anything else. He needs to stay close to Steve and he can’t relax enough to read or watch TV. So he cleans.

The windows are washed and the laundry is done. He tackles his bedroom with a kind of fervor that would make his mother cry tears of joy.

He saves the bathroom for last, stands at its threshold and looks down at the dried blood on the floor, the baseboard, even splattered in droplets along the walls. It looks like a murder scene and Bucky has to put a careful hand to Steve’s neck and feel the fluttering pulse there before he can swallow down the sick feeling in his stomach and get to work.

It looks better after the first pass of a wet cloth and Bucky bites his lip, looks at the water Steve’s in and contemplates how long it would take him to get to and from the beach and whether or not he’d be willing to leave Steve alone for that long. He decides he isn’t, not yet.

And he’s glad for that decision when a few minutes later he hears a soft noise behind him, whipping around in time to see Steve’s eyes tighten and his fist clench and unfurl, his fingers take up a carefully constructed shape against the edge of the tub.

It’s obvious he’s in pain and Bucky’s helpless to do anything for it.

“Hey, Steve,” he says softly, kneels down by the tub and dips his hand in the water, ignores the color of it as he gently wets down Steve’s face and hair.

Steve smiles at him and blinks more into focus. “Hey, Buck.” He readjusts a bit in the water and winces as it tugs at his stitches, then grimaces when he looks down and takes in the damage. “That bad, huh?”

Bucky nods, “Don’t know what I’m gonna do with you, punk.” And it’s true, he really has no idea what to do or how to fix this and he can’t shake the feeling that he hasn’t done enough. “Think you can stay awake long enough for me to change out some of this water?”

He gets a nod and Bucky’s out like a rocket, grabbing a couple of buckets and getting more ocean water as fast as he can. Steve’s still waiting for him when he gets back, looking up with the same fathomless blue eyes and pointy smile as Bucky comes shuffling through the door.

Bucky pulls the plug and drains as much of the dirtied water as he dares, quickly emptying the new water in before running out for more. It takes a few trips but before long Steve is resting in water that’s more clear than red and Bucky can breathe easier. Steve seems more comfortable too, or as comfortable as he can get crammed into a tub and held together with ugly black thread.

“Anything I can get for you?” Bucky asks. “Any kind of magical mermaid cure I should know about?”

Steve chuckles softly and shakes his head, “No magic cure. Just need to rest.”

“Don’t think this is something you can sleep off,” Bucky counters back weakly. “Please, Steve, are you hungry? I have some shrimp in the fridge.”

Steve screws up his face at the idea but deflates when he sees the look Bucky’s giving him. He has no idea what kind of expression he’s wearing but it must be something half-crazed with worry because Steve just nods without putting up more of a fight. He eats three shrimp before leaning back against the slick walls of the tub and shaking his head.

When Bucky comes back from returning the plate to the kitchen, Steve’s eyes are shut and his face is pale. Bucky’s heart stops in his chest.

“Steve?”

He drops to the ground and reaches for the hand draped over the side of the tub, nearly falling over in relief when Steve’s eyes flutter open and his hand gives Bucky’s a careful squeeze.

“Not going anywhere, Buck.” It’s said with a smile and a teasing flick of his tail, but Steve immediately becomes serious when Bucky doesn’t smile back. “I mean it. A promise is a promise.”

Bucky swallows once and settles down on the floor beside the tub, neither of them acknowledging that they’re still holding hands, neither of them letting go.

“Try to get some sleep,” he says.

Steve sighs, but despite an obvious desire to get into an argument, can’t quite fight off the pull of sleep.

~~~*~~~

The hours pass slowly, melting into one day and then two. The world shrinks down to the thin walls of the cottage and the scraggly path down to the ocean where Bucky gets fresh water. The sky is always sunny and clear and the waves sparkle in the sun’s glare, as inviting as ever, but there’s none of the usual joy in Bucky’s heart when he sees it. The ocean seems dauntingly empty and vast without Steve swimming around somewhere in its depths.

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at it the same way again.

When night falls Bucky’s nightmares come back to life, the endless rolling waves and the scream of his name in the dark. He can see Steve’s blood on his hands and the once peaceful sound of the waves sets him on edge. It’s that unease that has him sleeping in the hallway outside the bathroom on a pile of blankets, eyes open and staring unseeingly at the wall in front of him in the middle of the night.

It’s hauntingly silent in the house and Bucky can’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of his head. The door to the bathroom is ajar and he slips in easily, turns on the nightlight and takes in Steve’s sleeping face. It’s too still, almost waxy in the dim lighting.

A frown crosses his own face and he closes the short distance to put a hand on Steve’s forehead, cursing inwardly at the warmth that meets him.

“Steve?” he asks, scooping up some water to wet down his face and neck. He tries calling his name again as he wets down the rest of his exposed skin and scales. There’s still no response and Bucky feels panic mounting in his chest.

He flicks on the bathroom light.

Raking his eyes over every inch of Steve he can see, it doesn’t take long before he finds the problem.

“Shit,” he hisses, crouching down to get a better look at the reddened skin around one of Steve’s wounds. He prods at it gently and can’t hold back another curse at the swelling he finds, followed by the milky yellow discharge that emerges after a bit more pressure.

“Steve,” he says again, reaches up and pats gently at the side of his face. “C’mon, Steve, wake up.”

Steve’s eyes flutter open briefly and a low moan slips from his lips. “Bucky?” he asks, voice groggy and slow.

“Yeah, how you feeling?”

Steve’s forehead creases and his mouth dips down into a frown, like he’s just now coming to the realization that Bucky had just minutes before— that he’s _sick._

“Think you’ve got an infection,” Bucky explains, pushing some hair off of Steve’s face and biting his lip. “I could call the doctor in the morning, try to get some antibiotics?”

He gets a small huff in response but Steve’s eyes are already closed again, head lolling heavily against the bathroom wall.

Out of ideas, Bucky stands and ducks into the hallway, grabs his phone and paces up and down the floor. He could call his mom, see if she had any ideas. He could see if any drug stores were open this late at night and had something that could help.

But in the back of his mind he already knows… He can’t tell anyone about Steve without risking Steve’s life. And getting proper help is going to be impossible without exposing Steve’s secret.

But there has to be something, _anything._ Hell, he’d dive into the ocean shouting at the top of his lungs if he thought one of Steve’s kind would hear him and come help.

The sky is dark and cloudless, the moon a faint sliver in the sweeping bands of stars, and Bucky has never felt so small or insignificant beneath their gaze as he does right now.

Waves crash against the shore, the steady beat of life moving on and washing away what came before, and Bucky’s never hated the sound more. He slams his fist down on the counter and feels something sharp and _angry_ fill his veins.

Steve’s not going to die, damnit. He won’t let it happen.

And that’s when the screaming starts.

The stagnant lull of the night splinters into a thousand pieces as he sprints to the bathroom, Steve’s raw voice echoing in his ears and the hallway as he slams open the door. There’s water on the floor and in the air, droplets spraying everywhere with each thrash of Steve’s body in the tub.

Then as suddenly as it started, it stops, leaving Bucky standing frozen in the doorway, looking down at Steve’s thin frame bleeding from the newly opened gashes in his arms down to his sides and his suddenly very human legs.

His fucking _legs._

Bucky takes a moment to marvel at what the hell he’s just seen then quickly shoves it aside, pushes it away with all of the other important things that don’t encompass getting Steve to a hospital _right the fuck now_ because who is he to question miracles?

Tires squeal and gravel churns up beneath him as he speeds out towards the main road, wind whipping in the open windows as the sky spreads out dark and endless above them. The waves are dark, lapping against the shore.

~~~*~~~

“Mister, are you here to buy a present too?”

A small voice drags Bucky’s attention from the shelf of cards he’d been staring at. There’s a girl at his side, barely up to his waist, and she’s looking up at him with eyes wide and expectant.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Can’t decide what to get.”

“I’m buying my friend a bear because she fell off the swings at school.” She holds up the bear in question, a small brown one with a purple bow and a heart that says _Get Well Soon._ “Does your friend like bears? Maybe they could match!”

Bucky scratches the back of his neck and the girl smiles up at him with hope and before he knows it he’s walking out the door with a bear in one hand the little girl hanging off the other. The girl’s father smiles at him ruefully when they part ways at the elevator and she waves and blows him a kiss as the doors close between them.

It’s a long ride up to Steve’s floor.

They’d rushed him into surgery as soon as they’d arrived, taking him somewhere Bucky couldn’t follow. So he’d spent the remaining hours of the night and into the morning and afternoon waiting. He’d gotten something to eat in the cafeteria when it opened. He’d wandered the halls. And then he’d wound up at the gift shop.

It’s nearly three and as he approaches the nurses’ station on Steve’s floor he can only hope that he’s waited long enough and that this time they’ll let him in to see his friend. He ends up waiting another hour.

The room they finally lead him to is as white and nondescript as the rest. It feels wrong to see Steve in a space so sterile and small. He looks pale and weak beneath the covers and Bucky is on autopilot as he sets the small stuffed bear on the bedside table and sinks down in the chair by Steve’s side.

“Shit, Steve,” he murmurs, reaching out to take one of the cool, thin hands. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, doesn’t even stir, and Bucky sighs at the silence, sounds of the ocean replaced with the constant thrum of the hospital. It’s not long before visiting hours end but he’s back first thing in the morning, leaving the sudden loneliness of the cottage behind with the rising of the sun and a bag of overnight gear slung hastily into the backseat.

Steve’s eyes are open to meet him as soon as the nurse lets him in, as beautiful and blue as Bucky remembers.

“Hey Buck,” he grins, smile not as sharp but still just as teasing. He lifts a hand and meets Bucky’s halfway, threading their fingers together and giving them a squeeze. “Promised you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes. “Yeah, you did.”

It’s hours later when Steve’s asleep and noon’s rolled around that Bucky heads towards the cafeteria. They spent the morning speaking quietly about what happened, about the fishing boat chumming the water and the shark attack that came out of the gloom. It makes Bucky’s skin crawl but Steve had just shrugged. The ocean’s their home too, after all.

Nurses had come in and out, eyed them both warily but mostly left them to themselves. But there was something there, something about the way they looked at Steve, that had gotten Bucky’s attention. He just couldn’t put a finger on what it was. At least not until he gets off the elevator and hears hushed voices, stops short with his tray of sandwiches and fruit at the sound of Steve’s name.

“It’s just the strangest thing, him turning up again after fifteen years. And there’s no doubt it’s him. I don’t know anyone else on God’s green earth who has his mix of conditions and those ridiculously blue eyes.”

“Well, except his mother maybe,” a second nurse chimes in.

“But she disappeared sixteen years ago, didn’t she?” It’s a different nurse but she sounds just as dumbfounded as the other two. “Same time he did.”

“Right after his father died.”

They stand there in a somber silence for a moment and Bucky takes the opportunity to stroll confidently out from behind the corner, pausing to nod and smile at the three of them as if he’d just happened to walk by before disappearing down the hall. He shuts the door to Steve’s room and immediately gets a lifted eyebrow from the man propped up in bed.

“So apparently you were here sixteen years ago?” he starts with no introduction, walking over to set down their food and fixing Steve with a look.

He hasn’t had any time to process the information but he figures now’s as good a time as any to start asking some questions. If he’d just known a bit more about Steve, maybe he could’ve helped him better…

Steve grins sheepishly, “Yeah, my dad was human, so I lived…on land, for a little while.”

Bucky’s jaw nearly drops at that. “Your dad was human?”

His mind is spinning, so many things suddenly making sense. But why hadn’t Steve ever told him? He sits down in the chair while Steve keeps going; his knees feel weak.

“My dad was human,” Steve says again. “He met my mom and they fell in love. She came on land to be with him,” he says it so matter of fact that Bucky can’t do anything but blink as Steve continues.

“They had me, but my dad died when I was three and my mom and I went back to the ocean,” he looks down at his hands, voice softer but still strong. “She died when I was ten and I’ve never left the ocean since, until now at least. But for those first few years I lived here in this town, it’s why I have the name Steve.”

At this point, Bucky’s not sure whether he wants to take Steve by the shoulders and shake him or wrap him up in the tightest hug he can. It’d always seemed like Steve had as much free time as Bucky, that he might be just as alone, but it’d never occurred to Bucky to wonder just _how_ alone. At least Bucky can still call his mom, still has his sister. Steve’s got no family left at all.

He just can’t help but wonder why Steve had never told him any of it.

Steve seems to see where his thoughts have gone and turns to look him in the eye, biting down on his bottom lip before saying, “I wanted to wait. An important part of that story and who I am is what my mom did to be with my dad. I can become human, you’ve seen that yourself. But I wanted to wait to tell you, to _show_ you, until I thought we were ready.”

Reaching out to take Steve’s hand, Bucky sighs and looks into Steve’s earnest expression. “Ready for what, punk?”

“To keep me human _and_ healthy,” he answers. “I can’t explain how it works, but for us to become human our relationship with someone on land has to be very strong. The strength of the bond dictates how strong our human form will be. My parents loved me, but it wasn’t a proper bond. So my human form is weak, I was sick, and when my dad died my mom and I couldn’t leave the ocean for more than short periods at a time. But Bucky, you made me human again.”

He lets that sit between them, settle between Bucky’s shoulders and tug at a rapidly warming spot in his chest.

“You made me human again, and even though I was hurt and sick I survived the change and the trip to the hospital and the surgery. I’m here because of you, Buck. Because of how you feel about me and how I feel about you.”

“How you feel about me, huh?” Bucky smile weakly. “And just how is that?”

Steve rolls those brilliant blue eyes and though he’s trying valiantly to look put out he can’t quite hide the smile on his face as he tugs Bucky closer, until he’s balanced on one arm leaning over the side of the bed.

“I love you, you stupid jerk.”

Bucky can’t help the laugh that punches out of him, lightheaded and dizzy with the words and the feel of Steve’s lips warm and sudden against his. He pushes into the kiss and Steve hums appreciatively against his mouth, fingers squeezing encouragingly where they’re still holding hands. He bites teasingly at Bucky’s lower lip as they pull away and Bucky lets out another laugh.

“I love you too, punk. God help me, but I love you too.”

~~~*~~~

The sky is a brilliant clear blue, broken by hazy swatches of white that float just above the horizon. Waves crash against the sand in gentle swells that break in dazzling showers of water and light, the sun shining down and creating a glittery surface atop the waves. Bucky stands on the shore and stares out across the great expanse of endless blue, feels Steve shift at his side and turns to take in the love and longing on his face. Water sweeps over their toes.

They’re back home again, Steve finally released from the hospital and into Bucky’s care. The cottage is once again warm and inviting with Steve filling every corner with his snark and smiles. He’s staying human while he heals, neither willing to risk the strain of the change on his body until he’s in better shape, and they’re taking the opportunity to live in each other’s pockets, to not have to say goodbye at the end of the day.

They spend most of their time lying on the beach talking, or lying on the couch watching movies on days that it rains. Steve tries his hand at cooking and Bucky laughs like a loon when he comes home from the hardware store to find the kitchen and Steve both covered in flour and egg. The scowl on Steve’s face only makes it better. He’s having trouble readjusting to life on land but is firmly in denial.

But since Bucky had been at the hardware to get a screen door to replace the one Steve walked clear through and bent beyond repair, it’s pretty hard to deny at this point. And maybe Bucky would be worried about being insensitive, but Steve is just so _Steve_ about the whole thing. He mutters under his breath and shuffles around the house like an old man, going on about _‘when did they make doors you couldn’t see, anyway?’_ and _‘why do you need to add fire to food to make it better?’_ or Bucky’s personal favorite _‘wouldn’t even need to wear clothes if your delicate bits weren’t just hanging out in the open for anything to come by and rip off’._

Bucky had laughed so hard he cried.

Now, Steve is looking out over the ocean and his toes are digging into the sand, still unsteady on his feet but getting better every day. In fact, it won’t be long before he won’t need to worry about walking or standing any more, because Bucky can tell it’s not much longer before he’ll be strong enough to go back out to sea.

Bucky squeezes the hand he has in his as water washes over their feet, as the next swell batters at their shins. The waves rock them gently into the sand, deeper, until their toes disappear and water swirls in little eddies around their ankles. The waves come in and roll back out, but Steve doesn’t let go of Bucky’s hand.

~~~*~~~

“C’mon, Bucky! Hurry up!”

Steve is already knee deep in the water, turning back to wave Bucky on before pushing further out, water splashing up his thighs and kissing at his hips, rippling out around him in swirling eddies that instantly get swallowed in the waves.

Bucky runs in after him, sand disappearing beneath his feet as he surges forward in a giant spray of water that leaves them both laughing and spluttering when he finally catches up to Steve, ocean lapping at their chests and rocking them gently underneath the endless blue sky. He pushes at Steve’s shoulder, hard enough to make him sway and nearly tip over in surprise, then takes another step before diving down beneath the waves. He pops up a few feet away. “C’mon, _Steve!_ ” he shouts.

The laugh he gets in return is soon swallowed by the water as Steve dives in after him, going deep and skimming over the soft ocean floor before pinching at Bucky’s ankles and surfacing beside him with a splash. His hair is dark and plastered to his face in dripping sections, eyes brilliant and shining as he smiles and pushes at Bucky’s chest.

It devolves into a wrestling match in the water, one that neither can actually win. They tumble and sway in the crashing waves, feet kicking up clouds of sediment and laughs breaking up the silence of the deserted beach. Steve hops onto Bucky’s back and hangs on like a limpet, ignorant of Bucky’s attempts to shake him off, healthy and carefree and brighter than the sun. Bucky loves him more than he knows how to understand.

A wave finally crashes over them and breaks them apart, laughing and snorting out water a few feet away. Bucky shoots Steve a crooked smile, “Guess no one wins this round, huh?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever helps you feel better, Buck.”

Bucky flicks some water at him for that, but their playfulness from earlier is gone as the waves rock against their chests and a group of gulls flies overhead. Bucky’s toes curl in the sand.

“You think it’ll hurt?” He asks quietly. “Changing back?”

Steve’s eyes are as clear as ever as he answers, “I don’t know.” He looks from the ocean to Bucky and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m healthier this time, and not bleeding out all over your bathroom, so I think it’ll be fine. But I don’t know.”

It’s not the answer Bucky wants but it’s the one he expected. He sucks in a breath and looks out towards the horizon. “Okay,” he says. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Suddenly Steve is there, water displaced around them and splashing softly against his chest as Steve puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes him gently. “It’ll be fine, Buck. I’ll be fine. My mom did this for years.”

Bucky shrugs and bites his lip. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but the idea of Steve changing back makes his heart and his head feel like they’re splitting in two. He wants Steve to be happy and healthy, but it hurts to think about going back to the city and school and his old life knowing that Steve is so many miles away.

Steve gives his shoulder another squeeze. “I promised you, didn’t I? I’m not going to leave. I’ll always be here, waiting for you to come back. And I’ll always be here,” he taps Bucky’s chest then smacks him lightly when Bucky snorts at the cheesy sentiment. “I’m serious. The bond we have, you’ll know I’m here even all the way back in New York. Mermaid magic has its perks.”

“Oh,” Bucky puts a hand over his chest where Steve’s had just been. “Yeah I guess it does.” He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, turns to face Steve and puts the most excited look he can muster on his face. “You ready to do this then?”

Steve nods, reaches up and pushes at the side of Bucky’s head before stepping further out into the water. “Don’t make that face, Buck.” But the look on Steve’s face is changing too, the stubborn self-assuredness softening with the longing in his eyes. “It’ll be summer again before we know it.”

“I’ll be coming back before then, punk.” Bucky says, doing his best to keep his voice level as Steve slips further out, the water up to his neck and threatening to overtake him with each swell.

“That a promise?” Steve asks.

“It’s a promise.”

The words leave his lips and Steve goes under, disappearing beneath the waves in a barely perceptible splash. The sun beats down, the water twinkles in the glare, and the tide continues to crash into the shore.

From further out towards the horizon, Bucky sees a splash above the water and strains to see past the glare, catches a glimpse of a sharp smile and piercing blue eyes that dip beneath the waves before cresting in the flick of a tail.

Only a few hours later and Bucky’s on a plane to New York, nothing but land beneath him, the waves and the small stretch of beach he and Steve share already miles behind. The plane hums around him and he shuts his eyes.

He pretends it's the crashing of waves.

~~~*~~~

Bucky’s pen taps against the desk, movements automatic as he balances on the legs of his chair and flips through the pages of his notebook. He’s got a test the following morning and the professor’s not someone Bucky wants to cross, so he almost ignores the number that pops up on his phone, grabs it on the second to last ring and brings it to his ear. “Hello?”

There’s silence on the other line and Bucky’s wondering if it’s a prank, pulls the phone away to look at the caller ID and sucks in a breath at the familiar number. It’s the old wall-mount in the cottage, and unless his mama took an unexpected trip…

Then, soft and muffled like he’s not speaking into the right end of the phone, he hears it.

“Bucky?” There’s a pause, some rustling and then louder, the smile clear in his voice. “It’s Steve.”

~~~*~~~

Days pass, seasons change, and Bucky finds himself on the beach again, toes in the sand and eyes scanning the waves. It’s fall break and they don’t have a lot of time, but he takes every chance he gets to come back, to come _home._ Because that’s what Steve’s become— his home, snarky and scaled or not.

“Buck!” he hears, turns his head and sees Steve running down towards him on the well-trodden path between the cottage and the shore.

“What the hell were you doing up there?” Bucky asks, laughing in surprise as Steve comes panting to a stop in front of him. “And what’re you doing running around? You’ll burst a lung.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Good thing I’ve got back up then. And I was waiting for you, you jerk.”

Bucky grins and tugs him close, an arm flung around his shoulders and a kiss planted to the side of his head. “Missed me then?”

“Clearly you missed me more, if you came down here without unpacking or evening bothering to check the goddamn front door. It wasn’t locked. I was trying to make it _easy_ for you.”

Bucky laughs again and Steve scowls at him. “Love you so much it’s made me stupid.”

Steve huffs at him but there’s a blush on his cheeks that has Bucky’s smile softening and he bends down to press another kiss to Steve’s temple.

“Wanna go swimming later?”

Steve’s hand finds his and their fingers curl together, tangled loosely as Steve begins tugging them back towards the cottage. The sky is streaked with grey and mottled clouds but the water is still a welcoming, navy blue, sneaking up onto the shore and leaving froth and shells and sea glass in its wake. Their feet press into the cool, wet sand, footprints winding together across the beach.

Steve doesn’t let go. And with senior year already under way, in less than a year he’ll never have to.

It’ll be just them, the cottage, and the waves.

 

 


End file.
